


Make Me A Monster

by peculiarmars



Series: Monster [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Not a nice fic, Torture, noncon, tw: rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarmars/pseuds/peculiarmars
Summary: On some days he's lucid enough to know whats being done to him hurts. Sometimes he feels everything thats being done to him. On some days, he knows the names that go with their faces. They're the bad days.Today is a bad day.





	Make Me A Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for noncon, torture and imprisonment, and blood. This is not a nice fic. I put my bad moods in a fic and it turned out like this.

On some days he's lucid enough to know what's being done to him hurts. Sometimes he feels everything that's being done to him. On some days, he knows the names that go with their faces. They're the bad days.

 

The good days are when he looses himself inside his head. The good days are when he thinks of other faces, a stern man with long hair and a beautiful woman dressed in the most expensive silks. The good days are when he can pretend that there is no-one in the room with him, no-one dragging their tongue over his cheek, no-one with icy hands on his hips-

 

Today is a bad day. He feels everything. He feels the icy hands as they scratch their nails over his thighs, as they slide over his chest, as they pin his trembling hands down either side of him.

 

He can distinguish between the two on bad days. Today it is the snake-like monster. The snake like one whispers to him, making things sound like requests, but the boy knows he cannot ever refuse. The snake-like monster is always cold. The snake-like monster plays games with him, games that are terrifying and make the boy want to die. When the monster points his wand at him, the boy whimpers instinctively, pressing himself into the corner, begging and pleading _, not today, not today, please not today._

 

It never works. The monster plays games with him until every part of his aches from the cruciatus curse and his throat is raw from screaming. He almost sobs when the snake-like monster stands, taking the small bowl of barely edible looking gruel with him as he shuts the door behind him. He hasn't eaten in days, and he had promised to be good, to do anything he asked, if he could only eat something.

 

The snake-like monster had told the boy not to make a sound, not a whisper. The boy had tried, really tried, but the monster cast the curse over and over again and again and again and again and again and he couldn't help it, he couldn't help it. Really, he couldn't.

 

The boy crawls across the cold tiled floor, back to his corner, knees tucked against his chest, arms locked around them, holding himself together. He cannot always keep track of the days, he thinks he may have tried once, long ago, but he doesn't see the point anymore. There are no windows in his prison, the only indication that the world has not collapsed in his torment is the visitors. He doesn't know how often they come, but he thinks they must be frequent, because the bruises from one of them have never faded by the time he is visited by the other.

 

The other one is different from the snake-like monster. His hands are always warm to the point of burning. His games are more physical. The wild-monster always drags his nails deeper, cutting into his skin. He is always more rough, more loud.

 

He knows that neither of the monsters are human, not like he is. Was. He's not sure if he is now.

 

The snake-like monster likes him on his knees, begging and pleading. He does it because he can no longer comprehend the thought of refusing him. He is punished when he disobeys. And sometimes he is punished even when he doesn't. The snake likes it when he cowers in his presence, shaking uncontrollably.

 

The other monster, the wild one, likes seeing him cry. No, he doesn't. The wild one likes making him cry but hates it when he does. He likes him on his knees as well, but usually for a different reason. He is sometimes told to beg, and he does, but he never knows what he's begging for. This monster does not like seeing him cower. He sneers at the boy, gripping his head tight and making him meet the other monsters eyes, his hot, horrible breath making the boy cower even more.

 

It is an endless cycle of fear and humiliation and pain.

 

He hears footsteps outside, getting louder and closer. They are not the soft, light footsteps of the snake. Those footsteps are more terrifying to him, as the snake is so quiet that sometimes he does not hear him until he feels his icy hands on his face and realises he is no longer alone.

 

But no, no. These are not the light footsteps of the snake. These are the heavy, thumping footsteps of the other one. The wild one. The beast. The wolf.

 

He begins to shake uncontrollably, wanting what has not started to be over already. He slaps a hand over his mouth to tamper down the terrified wail threatening to escape. No, the beast won't like it. He can not cry. Do not cry. _Do not, do not, do not._

 

The door creaks open. He squeezes his eyes shut as light from the outside pours in. He has not been outside for. He doesn't know. Long time. Very. Yes. Long.

 

He's so scared he can barely string together a coherent thought.

 

The beast slams the door shut behind him, causing the boy to flinch. A frightened noise escapes his hand and he prays that the beast did not hear it. The beast stalks towards him, reaching out a burning hand and dragging from his corner, and the boy is forced to take his hand off of his mouth. He really does wail this time. Loud enough for the beast to hear.

 

_Oh no. No. No. No no nononononnonononono._

 

The beast leers at him, licking his lips like he is planning to eat him. He almost begs him too. He wouldn't be able to hurt if he was dead.

 

The beast licks a stripe up his neck as the boy fights to keep his breathing under control. He wants to go to go away in his head. He wants to think about the people who raised him. But he cannot. Not today. He cannot think of anything but the monsters.

 

So he thinks about the beast. He thinks about how he is always ready to hurt. Hurt, but not kill. His monsters refuse to kill them and refuse to let him kill himself. He doesn't mind the hurting when he isn't there to feel it.

 

But he's there today. No matter how many times he tries to go away, to disappear inside his head, he just can't. He feels everything.

 

Feels his hands burning into his skin. Feels his long nails scraping between his thighs. Feels the sharp pain in his neck as the beast drags his teeth over his throat. Feels the beast's teeth drag down over his shoulders and down to his elbow, over the snake's mark on his forearm.

 

He imagines the beast biting him on His mark. Imagines him biting it clean off, licking up his blood. He imagines the beast bites his other arm too, so the snake can never mark that arm. And then another bite on his face, making him so horrid they'll never look at him again. And another on his throat, making blood pour and letting the life drain from him. And more and more until the boy is nothing but an empty dead skeleton. Until the boy can no longer feel. Ever. Until the boy becomes like the snake and the beast.

 

Until the boy himself becomes a monster.

 

"Make me a monster," The boy pleads to his imagination.

 

"Since you asked so nicely, Draco." And then Fenrir bites.

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a sequel to this? idk, tell me what y'all think.
> 
> Sequel: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11371935


End file.
